Do you mind?
by blackcapricorn
Summary: Inspired by this tumblr prompt: Sherlock and John sitting casually in 221b until Sherlock gets up from his microscope and walks down the hall to the bathroom. John tries to act cool about it, until the bathroom door closes. When it closes, John stills his fingers over the keys so the sound of his typing won't cover up the sound of Sherlock peeing.


John furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to re-edit the case he had typed up last night.

It was an early morning, calm and somehow domestic. Sherlock was in the kitchen with his goggles on, peering into his microscope while John was settled in his chair with his laptop on his lap.

Strangely, as John had recently observed, Sherlock's presence rendered him into a state of calmness, a world where he could follow up his current task with deep rooted concentration. This, well, he hadn't given it much thought before, but he felt that he had become hyperaware of Sherlock's presence - or sudden absence.

Just like yesterday, when Sherlock had left the room and John was abruptly snapped out of his thriving daze, blinking at his laptop in confusion and wondering why that kept happening to him. That's when he realized that this odd on and off focus of his must have something to do with Sherlock. More accurately, it had something to do with him not being in the same room anylonger.

Well, it wasn't really a problem; John was able to get back to his task after that weird pausing in his brain happened. It was just that this pause bothered him a bit.

He had to admit that Sherlock was more often than not the center of his attention, so he supposed this was perhaps bound to happen. Maybe John's sub consciousness simply wanted to let him know that the detective was still safe and sound. But wasn't this a tad extreme?

Nevertheless, John happened to go over these thoughts again as his typing started to falter. Coincidentally, Sherlock's presence shifted. John couldn't see it but the detective was in fact moving, standing up with annoyance written across his face and whirling around with his dressing gown to abruptly disappear to the bathroom.

The door snapped shut with a loud 'pang'.

John blinked at his white screen, not seeing any of the words that he had just typed. His fingers stilled over the keyboard, and he tilted his head lightly to the side to confirm that Sherlock indeed went to the bathroom.

He licked his dry lips.

For some reason he felt overly curious to hear any sounds coming from said room, and so John remained in his frozen pose, fingers resting over the keyboard, quietly hoping to gauge what Sherlock was doing.

Or what he could possibly hear him doing, knowing the detective had a handful of empty cups gathered around his table it wasn't a difficult guess.

Sherlock Holmes probably needed to wee.

Never before had John paid any particular attention to Sherlock's loo habits, but now that his mind was set on the subject it came to his attention that Sherlock rarely needed to use the loo. Even during a case, John couldn't remember an instance where the detective cursed about needing to pee. He definitely would have noticed Sherlock disappearing for a few minutes to the bathroom. But thinking about it, John was sure that Sherlock considered this just another bodily inconvenience.

Well, but even the great detective needed to relieve his bladder at some point.

John was overcome with the sudden image of Sherlock needing to pee, whatever he wanted to or not Sherlock had no control over this. This was a bodily function that Sherlock could not just easily ignore without having his body show him the consequences.

And John was quite sure that the detective wouldn't let it come so far as to doing the potty dance. Though the mental picture of his flatmate becoming all desperate while holding himself tightly, strangely quickened John's pulse.

The sound of the toilet lid being lifted was heard; John stared transfixed at his black keyboard, barely breathing. He thought for a split moment that he could make out the snap of a waistband, but it seemed an impossible thing to hear, after all the walls weren't that thin. Were they?

And if they were how had John never noticed before?

Then there was a pause in which despite himself John imagined Sherlock standing in front of the toilet, pajama pants lowered and pulling out his-

John's breath stuttered at the clear picture that his mind produced. Sherlock was definitely standing, and pointing his-

Holding his-

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a soft stream hitting the porcelain bowl of the toilet.

Oh god.

Sherlock was starting to pee, starting to relieve his aching bladder, starting to let go. And while he did so he was holding himself, holding his exposed penis between his long, pale fingers, aiming it towards the porcelain bowl, and focusing of not making a mess, not letting one drop escape to the floor.

John's eyes widened when he felt himself twitch in his pants, his trousers were starting to tent, reaching out towards the heat of his laptop. He shuddered as he gently pressed his laptop against his bulge, rubbing it and stifling a gasp.

This was a bit not good.

But all he could think of was that Sherlock was peeing, peeing at this very moment, vulnerable while relieving himself and unaware that John was eagerly listening to his gushing stream becoming more and more steady.

The soft hissing sound was now a noisy stream, and it made John flush up with the knowledge that he was turned on because he was listening –

Listening to the sound of-

'Oh fuck,' he muttered under his erratic breathing, trying to mentally finish the bloody sentence.

He was listening to the sound of Sherlock pissing, listening and hearing how his urine rushed out of his tight little piss slit, eventually hitting and spraying the bowl with a loud hissing noise.

John barely registered when he had started humping his laptop. The friction was just enough to keep him from pulling out his cock, but even if it weren't John was not in doubt what he would have done.

Trying to keep quiet, he gripped his laptop and furiously rubbed it against his clothed length, closing his eyes and intently paying attention to the noise behind the unlocked bathroom door.

Unlocked bathroom door.

At once, John's eyes snapped open, mouth watering at the thought that Sherlock had left the door unlocked, practically inviting John to join in and watch him.

Would Sherlock mind? John shook his head, feeling stupid for wondering such a thing. Of course he'd mind, it was an invasion of privacy, no one would like that. It's just that Sherlock constantly invaded John's, so why can't John just for once -

And what? Watch how the detective took a wee in their bathroom?

John's cock eagerly pulsated at the thought and his heart raced with excitement. But no, he couldn't, he, unlike Sherlock, respected privacy. But regardless, knowing that John could just walk up and open the door this very instance was enough to bring him over the brink. And imagining what would happen, what he'd see definitely wasn't any less of a turn on.

The great detective would be pissing helplessly as John walked in, he'd be unable to stop urinating midstream, and John would have the perfect opportunity to stand next to him, have a little glance of his lovely penis, and see how the urine escaped the tip.

And since fantasies had unlimited boundaries, the next thing John would do was bow down and play with the hot, despreate stream. He'd put his finger against the gushing urine and let it spray everywhere, making a filthy mess around them. Sherlock would be distressed and try aim his stream away from John's finger, and John in turn would press the whole palm of his hand right against the spurting tip of his exposed penis.

A gasp went past his lips, and John was aching, achingly close of coming. He stroked the head of his cock with his laptop, and went back to listening to Sherlock pee in the bathroom. It was better he never walked in, now that he knew what he'd like to do, he'd be surprised if he was able to meet Sherlock's eyes within the next few weeks.

God he hadn't had the slightest idea how much this turned him on.

The streaming sound was still going strong which meant that Sherlock's bladder must have been so full, practically on the brink of bursting. No wonder Sherlock didn't lock the door, he must had been quite in a hurry.

As John continued to tease himself, he absent mindedly wondered whatever Sherlock held his lovely cock with both hands while he pissed. He really should catch the detective at a public urinal to find out.

John leaned further back in his chair and slowly caressed his cock, not wanting to finish before the detective had fully relieved himself. Though now that John heard the first decrease of the steady stream, John was anticipating to soon hear the familiar tickle of the last drops hitting the porcelain bowl.

He firmly put his laptop on his erection again, and became more frantic with his rubbing as the sound of Sherlock pissing slowed down. Well, John thought it was slowing down until suddenly the stream became much more insistent again.

A lot of piss must be rushing out of Sherlock's little penis that John was sure of. His curiousity was peaked when he kept hearing a brief stutter in the strong stream, wondering exactly just what Sherlock Holmes was doing while he was having a wee. Was the detective playing with himself while he urinated? Playing with his despreate cocklet, and squezzing it, teasing himself as he often liked to do before John watched him come over the brink.

Gasping, that thought proved to be too much for him as he bucked his hips and came with an intensity that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. John was breathless with bliss, though felt daunting embarrassment as it started to daunt on him that he just bugged off like some horny teenager. He still heard Sherlock in the bathroom.

Finally, John's pulse slowed down and so did the tickling noise, at last coming to a halt. John imagined that the detective shook his cock, watching as the last droplets dribbled from the foreskin into the bowl, before flushing the toilet and tucking himself back into those damned pajamas.

John licked his lips and hurriedly straightened his back, putting his fingers back to his keyboard and clicking some random letters.

Moments after Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, seemingly and hopefully not noticing anything about John.

John waited five minutes before he stopped his fake typing and put the laptop aside, grimacing with having sticky pants. Standing up, he went to the kitchen and waited to boil some water whilst occasionally glancing between the detective and his microscope. Sherlock noticed and looked up; his curls were sticking around his goggles.

"John?"

His voice was unsure. He must have gauged the hesitancy that was radiating from the fidgeting doctor.

John averted his eyes, coincidentally settling his gaze over the detective's crotch, seeing the shape of his small soft prick resting on his thigh. Licking his dry lips, John contemplated how he should approach the subject of his fantasy.

"I..er well I think we need to talk."

Sherlock instantly looked alarmed and stared at John with wide eyes, mentally checking what he might have done to put John off already.

Feeling bad for phrasing it so clumsily, John shook his head, quickly adding, "No! It's not that, Sherlock. It's, I think I would like to talk about ...something, something more intimate."

John wanted to face palm himself for approaching this subject so suddenly. He and Sherlock had been in a relationship for almost three months, and it's been going just marvelously, though they were still unsure in certain areas as John was worried that Sherlock might be easily overwhelmed. Of course they had plenty of sex and as far as John could tell Sherlock was always enthusiastic and willing to explore something new. Though for the life of him he couldn't explain why he needed to talk about his newest discovery right after he became aware of it.

The detective frowned as he relaxed again, not understanding what the doctor was so embarrassed about.

"Yes, John?"

"You didn't lock the door whilst you …took a piss."

John's face went red as he added, "Why?"

Sherlock blinked at him blankly, grasping to understand what his doctor was intending to convey.

John cleared his throat, feeling more than self-conscious when Sherlock stared at him for a moment longer, eventually giving him one of his body scan looks before frowning once more. "John, while I'm not used to having anyone want to watch me urinate, I don't object to you observing me. As for the unlocked door, I don't find any necessity to lock it since I never did so before, which apparently you have failed to observe."

An 'oh' escaped John's lips. Still feeling tense what he actually wanted to talk about, he continued to stare at Sherlock's crotch.

"Right. So you knew I was listening to your rather long er, piss?"

There was a split pause. John quickly looked at Sherlock's face, finding that the detective looked somewhat speechless if not slightly flustered.

"I.. No that I was not aware of. But perhaps, that is, given your blatant interest of my occasional need to relief my bladder, perhaps you'd find it of significance to learn that I prefer taking my time whilst urinating."

Intrigued that there was something Sherlock somewhat was embarrassed about, John kindly pressed the topic.

"Are you saying you enjoy having long wee-wee's?"

Mortified with the doctor's horrid choice of words, Sherlock made an affronted face, grimacing at the word 'wee-wee'.

"John. I don't 'wee-wee'."

"So you admit you enjoy it then?"

Pressing his lips together, the detective nodded stiffly.

John was surprised by this new revelation, feeling his heart jump as he thought back to when he wondered whatever or not Sherlock played with himself while he urinated. Though feeling it might be too tactless to ask him this right now, John cleared his throat to instead focus on what he was about to say.

"That's good. It's good to know, and talk about this, er-"

Sherlock's frown deepened as John kept avoiding the point of the discussion.

"-John. Do come to the point."

"Right, sorry. It's just, when I heard you behind that unlocked door I realized I want to try something out with you. I enjoy the thought of you ...pissing and us engaging in this area. What are your thoughts on this? I know it's a bit …much."

"Much? John, don't be obtuse. Of course if you like it I'll engage in it."

"Good. You don't mind then?"

Sherlock shook his head while taking off his goggles, looking at John.

"Why should I? Wasn't my previous admission evidence enough that I already am engaging in it, if only by myself?"

John felt his arousal return, knowing that next time he'll get to watch his detective pee in front of his very eyes. Though John still hadn't fully elaborated what he'd do while Sherlock did so.

"And you're fine if we get messy? Say I played with your stream and then put my hand against your weeing cock?"

Seemingly startled at the sudden filthy words, Sherlock appeared a bit taken aback, though a lovely flush tinted the detective's cheek.

John glanced down just in time to see the detective's penis twitch against the loose material of his pants, appearing to like what he had said.

"Or if I held your lovely little prick?"

Sherlock shifted in his chair as his penis treacherously jerked again beneath his pajamas. He hastily crossed his legs, squeezing himself between his thighs.

The detective blinked rapidly, seemingly flustered that John had caught his sudden movement, as he stumbled over his words.

"I, y-yes. That sounds good, Joh-hn."

John gave Sherlock his most loving smile as he straightened his back, turning to the counter to make his detective a generous cup of tea.

"Fantastic. Then you best start drinking your next cup of tea."


End file.
